


(Not) Just to Try It

by 8sword



Series: The Whole Romance Thing [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Castiel, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Dean Winchester, F/F, Femslash, Femslash February, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 19:33:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8sword/pseuds/8sword
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Look here, Claire," Dean says. "We don't pay for you to go to college so you can spend your Friday nights in your PJs."</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Not) Just to Try It

**Author's Note:**

> Owed, as always, to loversforlycanthropes. Title from Katy Perry's "I Kissed a Girl."
> 
> Warning: underage drinking

                "Look here, Claire," Dean says. "We don't pay for you to go to college so you can spend your Friday nights in your PJs."

                "Technically," Claire says. "I pay for me to go to college. They're called scholarships, maybe you've heard of them?"

                Dean huffs. Cas smiles, then pushes up from the kitchen table where he and Dean have been sitting in front of his Mac to Skype with Claire. She can hear him beginning to pick up silverware and plates, carrying them into the kitchen.

                "Perhaps," his voice says, "we should be spending our own Friday night in a more exciting way, Dean."

                Dean perks up. "Oh yeah? What'd you have in mind, hot stuff?"

                "And that's where I log off," Claire says. "Good night."

                "Text us if Emma's not back by twelve!" Dean hollers. Claire snorts and disconnects.

                Her phone's next to her b-law book, half-buried under a sheaf of her notes, and she doesn't nudge them aside to see if the screen is blinking with any missed messages. When Emma and Ajax go out together, they go _out_ \--Ajax is so huge that it takes whole Fish Bowls to get him drunk, and with her Amazon metabolism, Emma isn't much better. They inevitably become a spectacle wherever they end up, audiences gathering to watch the sheer quantities of alcohol being imbibed by two human waste disposals. Sometimes it's worth it, when Emma's so flushed and giddy that she leans her hip against Claire's knee, rests her chin on Claire's shoulder, as Claire sits on a stool at the bar or a table. But most of the time Claire just feels out of place, so she's content to stay here and get things done, catch up on e-mails from her friends in Barcelona, work on her term paper proposal.

                It's nearly one when she hears the noises outside. Someone's singing "I Kissed a Girl" extremely off-key, a someone who becomes two someones, and Claire plugs in her earbuds, sighing, only to pull them out a few minutes later when the apartment door knob starts to jiggle.

                "Sssshhh!" comes Emma's loud whisper outside. "Claire's STUDying!"

                Ajax mumbles something back, too low for Claire to make out, and they both dissolve into laughter.

                Claire sighs again and pushes up from her spot between the couch and coffee table. She gets to the door just as Ajax finally manages to get it open with Emma's key. They both stare at Claire for a moment, eyes wide and hair rumpled. Then Emma hiccups and slides off Ajax's back. It's like her body misses the message to stop when her feet hit the ground because she just keeps going instead, until she's sprawled on her butt on the floor. She blinks at her legs, encased in her only miniskirt and the plaid stockings she got for her birthday, and then burps.

                "You dropped me," she informs her boots.

                Ajax howls with laughter. He slides down the doorjamb, shoulders shaking. Claire presses her own amusement into a smile and comes forward to pull them both out of the doorway. Emma sees her feet and goes, "Claaaaaaaiiiire," raising her arms to be picked up.

                Claire gets her hands under Emma's arms to haul her up. "Do you need a ride or are you crashing here tonight?" she asks Ajax.

                "Mmm-mmm, mama, I got somebody waiting outside for a piece of this," Ajax says, and it's Emma's turn to burst into laughter, warm snuffles of it all over Claire's neck.

                Claire rolls her eyes in disdain to cover other feelings, wishing Ajax good luck as he smacks an air-kiss in Emma's vague direction and stumbles back outside. The door clicks shut behind him, the sound of his footsteps down the breezeway retreating, and Emma sort of sighs against Claire's neck again. She stays leaning against her. Claire stays still, holding her up, and moments pass marked by nothing but the thud of their heartbeats and the quiet whir of the refrigerator behind them.

                Finally Emma pulls away. Already her eyes are starting to become less glassy in the dim lamplight; alcohol never lasts long in her bloodstream. She sighs again and goes to the fridge, pulling it open and taking out stuff for a sandwich.

                "Sorry for bothering you," she says as she unscrews the mayonnaise.

                "No bother," Claire says. She leans against the counter, looking at Emma's mussed hair hanging forward over her face, the black X on the back of her hand that clearly didn't keep her from getting drinks from somewhere. "I'm glad you had fun."

                Emma's mouth twists sort of sardonically. "Mmm," is all she says, putting the second slice of bread onto her sandwich and cramming it into her mouth. She looks up at Claire for the first time, and Claire's stomach does a pole vault when she sees the smudge of something darker and pinker than anything that's in Emma's sandwich on the corner of her bottom lip.

                Emma doesn't wear lipstick.

                Claire shifts against the counter. "That song you were singing...?"

                Emma's eyes flicker. She swallows the rest of the sandwich. There's mayonnaise on her thumb. "I dunno, something from the party."

                Claire stays where she is, leaning against the counter. Then she reaches for one of the slices of ham sitting in the container next to Emma's hand and folds it up to eat. "I didn't know you liked girls."

                Emma's eyes had gone to Claire's fingers folding the ham. Now they fly up to hers.

                After a moment, they slide away again. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Claire," she says evenly, and starts to put the sandwich ingredients back into the fridge.

                Claire leans across the counter and puts her hand on Emma's wrist. "Not that much."

                Emma closes her eyes. Then she opens them again to look at Claire. They're completely clear now, none of the haze of alcohol. "You sure about that?"

                Claire lifts Emma's hand to her mouth. She licks the mayonnaise from her thumb, just a flick of her tongue across Emma's calloused skin.

                Emma's face moves to smile, to make Claire's action less than it is. _Ha ha, Claire, real funny_. So Claire uses her hand to pull her in across the counter, to catch Emma's lower lip between her own and lick across that, too. Then she lets go, lets Emma slide back down to her feet from her tiptoes, and Emma's staring at her, drawing her lip back under her teeth automatically and sucking on it before she realizes what she's doing, eyes wide.

                "Claire?"

                It's a question and a plea. Claire stays where she is, just close enough to  see the light from her bedroom door gleaming off Emma's wet lower lip. And it's stupid, God, she's going to regret doing it, but she sort of warbles, hoping Emma gets what she's doing, " _I liked it_."

                A laugh trips out of Emma's startled mouth. Then her hand's grabbing Claire's arm, hard enough to hurt. "Are you serious?"

                Claire's not sure if she's smiling or glowering; her face feels sort of like it's doing both. "Would I sing Katy Perry if I wasn't?"

                Emma's laugh trembles. But then she's scrambling over the countertop, nearly falling off the other side in her enthusiasm because her tights are slippery against the fake granite, and Claire's laughing now, too, cut off when Emma's mouth finds hers again, mouthing and urgent, almost scared, like she's afraid this is going to be taken away. Claire's hands find her jaw and cradle it, tracing her thumbs back along the shells of Emma's ears, and Emma's mouth falters. She pulls back. Claire follows her, angling her forehead against Emma's, and Emma's lips move against her when she whispers, "Claire?" into Claire's mouth.

                "I'm not going anywhere," Claire whispers back. She says it carefully, deliberately, shaping her lips to Emma's with each syllable so that their lips catch and cling. She finishes with a slow stroke of her tongue along Emma's lower lip, and Emma shudders against her, tightens her arm around Claire's neck.

                "Are you sure?" she whispers.

                Instead of answering aloud, Claire takes Emma's knees and moves them so that Emma's ankles are hooked behind her. Emma's breath catches, and Claire's thumb, stroking mindlessly back and forth on the inside of her leg just beneath the hem of her skirt, falters and digs into Emma's skin. They stare at each other, inches apart.

                "I'm not--" Emma begins, and Claire watches her tongue go to the place along her gums where her second set of teeth lie, the place where they slide out when Emma's eyes are red and yellow.

                Claire is very deliberate then. She slides her hands back up Emma's sides to her face, thumbs beneath her cheekbones. Then she licks her way into her Emma's mouth, to the place where her fangs quiver, and licks around them, over them, until Emma's panting for breath, legs clamped tight and trembling around Claire's waist.

                Only then does Claire move back, and then only a little, just far enough for them to be inhaling each other's exhalations. "I know what you are," she murmurs.

                Emma squeezes her eyes shut. Then she breathes and parts her mouth like a plea, and the meeting of their lips again is more like magnetism than anything else, drifting back into place. Soft sounds in the silent stillness of their kitchen, their mouths moving wetly against one another, the near-inaudible _pop_ as they part. A string of saliva clings to Emma's mouth as they part, and Claire thumbs it away, their foreheads pressing hot and hard together as her pulse throbs in her temples.

                Emma whispers, "What now?"

               

\- o -

 

                They haven't slept in the same bed since their last family vacation, on a sofa bed in the adjoining room to Cas and Dean's on their winter trip to the Grand Canyon. Emma had hogged all the blankets then, like she usually did, but Claire had the forethought to pack warm wool socks. Emma was greedy anyway, and they ended up back to back, Emma pressing the bottom of her bare feet to Claire's socked ones under the covers to keep them warm. She grumbled about it, and Dean must've heard her, because the door between their rooms opened and a pair of his socks sailed through the door, bouncing off Emma's head.

                She grumbled about that, too, but pulled them on, then snuggled back down back to back with Claire again, but Claire was smirking, the sneaky smirk that always made Emma grin because it meant nothing good for Dean.

                "Wait, wait," she ordered, and pushed her feet down Emma's ankles until her toes were worming into Dean's socks next to Emma's feet, stretching out the old gray Hanes fabric. Emma's feet were doubly warm, then, huddled in those socks with Claire's, and she had been so grateful all of a sudden that her throat nearly clogged up with it, with how lucky she was to have this, to have Claire, when her veins were full of something inhuman and dark.

                It's the same feeling, now, as they crawl under Claire's covers and pull each other's layers off in the dark, cold fingers finding skin. A feeling of disbelief, of _thank you_ and _this can't really be happening_ , of her chest so tight it feels like she's still outside, shivering in freezing air. And Claire beside her, over her, around her, their hair sliding over one another's on the pillow.

                It's perfect.

 

 

 


End file.
